


Brains Out

by KASPIAN (orphan_account)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst and Romance, M/M, Mafia undertones, References to Drugs, Rough Sex, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 19:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/KASPIAN
Summary: ''If I go to jail tonight, promise you'll bail me out.''





	Brains Out

**Author's Note:**

> Linked to the drabble Breathe Me

There’s no such thing as forever. 

Especially not in love. 

That’s what the sane people say, at least.

  


He doesn’t pick up his phone. He doesn’t answer any calls.

He hasn’t peeked in for more than three weeks now, but it’s not a record or worse than one of those times where he disappeared for four months and came back with a smarmy, untroubled ‘’missed me?’’, followed by the usual low chuckle and a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth.

He’s like smoke in one’s lungs. 

One will fade because of him, but he leaves one blessed with a shot of nicotine for an hour along with the curse of an addiction.

He’s cancer in one’s brain cells, but one won’t know it before it’s too late and he’s spread to the rest of the body, never to latch off.

He comes and goes as he pleases, because his soul finds no rest and his eyes have a hardened shell glazed over the surface from a morose childhood, bruises in high school and muddy encounters in bars and alleyways.

Kyungsoo leans back in the couch, a phone in his hand as he dials the same number over and over again, even if he knows it’s to no avail, and the robotic female voice says that the number no longer exists.

He looks at the bills for this month’s ownership of his apartment with a solemn glare.

_ Their  _ apartment.

One occupier says Do Kyungsoo, while the other says a different additional name of a ghost who passes by.

But it’s Kyungsoo who has to whip his credit card out and assure he isn’t going to get kicked out in the next month, even if his wallet is wearing thin and he doesn’t like the thought of going back to rely on getting money from his parents at this age.

He’s busy enough as it is with his assumed last year in a high degree bachelor, assignments flowing and a final project appearing in the horizon - putting aside the small-time jobs he’s already got on his back.

Sometimes he has the money.

Sometimes he doesn’t. 

Sometimes he’s the one giving.

Sometimes he’s the one receiving.

But there’s never a source on where the money comes from whenever he sees that a tremendous bundle has been launched in on his paypal account, one that comes every one or twice a year, has been coming since almost six years ago when he turned nineteen and Jongin moved in with him.

It thins out again because even if the money is deposited, they disappear again, not always by the help of Kyungsoo’s own hands when he has to assure that he’ll survive with his mind and body in a good condition.

He has enough just to get by, and usually ends up paying the bills, because the money from the counterpart is not always there when he needs it.

‘’Is that shithead out of town again?’’ Jongdae raises a brow, cracking one pistachio nut before plopping the core into his mouth, munching as he rolls his eyes when Kyungsoo can only shrug.

‘’Beats me,’’ he answers, and he sounds calm, even if his grip on the phone tightens.

It’s on repeat - this scene.

Again, again and again, he can only say the same whenever familiar faces pop by, look around and roll their eyes when the other side of the bed is empty and Kyungsoo is left cooking dinner for one, or eats take-out when his body doesn’t work and his mind can only focus on work or his studies.

‘’Does he still bring that shit home?’’ Jongdae then asks, taking his feet down from the sofa table. 

Kyungsoo looks at the bills and meddles with his laptop next to him, about to pay with what he has left, and he can only hope for a shot on his other account even if it’s against his supposed moral.

‘’Sometimes,’’ Kyungsoo answers then, not looking up, and clicks the ‘OK’ button with a prominent tick.

‘’Ironic, isn’t it?’’ the other counters, a sardonic smile on his lips. ‘’With you soon getting your graduation papers, off to save the world with a career in Law Enforcement,’’ he whirs a hand in the air. 

It’s often been a sensitive subject, but Kyungsoo guesses he’s come past the stage of caring lately.

‘’Jongin can do whatever he wants,’’ he replies, ‘’that’s all he knows of, anyway,’’ and it’s not all true, but it’s what the surface shows.

Jongdae tilts his head. ‘’I’m impressed you stay together, though,’’ he offers. ‘’Just don’t get involved in it.’’ 

Kyungsoo closes the computer and slides the bills away. ‘’He’s not my boyfriend,’’ he folds his legs up on the sofa and sits Indian style. ‘’I guess.’’

‘’Yet you share an apartment.’’ 

This one stings, and Kyungsoo’s not sure why. 

Or he already knows, but he’s just good at folding the papers and putting them in the oldest archives instead of presenting them on the front where he can reach them.

He has no answer to that.

It’s strange to say that he has a boyfriend, but not really. 

It’s like they’re connected, but only by strings in the underground, where Jongin works - while the ones in daylight are left broken, where Kyungsoo lives.

‘’He pays as well - sometimes,’’ Kyungsoo defends, even if it’s a meek attempt.

Jongdae huffs. ‘’Right, with money he’s earnt where?’’

‘’His job.’’

‘’What job?’’ 

‘’He doesn’t like talking about it.’’

‘’Why do you think?’’ 

Kyungsoo licks his lips and shakes his head. ‘’I don’t know.’’ 

‘’You say he has once deposited more than my weight in gold on your card, and yet he can’t pay for a fucking one-man’s apartment’s stay?’’ Jongdae is angry, but Kyungsoo understands him. 

He always tries to reason, but Kyungsoo’s skull is thick, either from purposeful or unintended ignorance. 

‘’He’ll pay me back, don’t worry,’’ Kyungsoo waves a hand in the air.

‘’Why don’t you just kick him out?’’ 

Kyungsoo doesn’t answer this, and Jongdae throws his hands in the air with a ‘’fine - your choice,’’ angry for today, even if he’ll come back tomorrow again and check that Kyungsoo’s still breathing between piles of work. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t reply, because he knows that his answer is uncalled for. It’s stupid and poisonous. 

_ ‘’Because I don’t want to give him a reason to leave.’’ _

**_‘’Because our love is meant to last forever.’’_ **

Kyungsoo remembers the first time he saw Kim Jongin.

He remembers the first hello they exchanged, and how Jongin was bad at looking people in the eyes, even if his stare can make a grown man retreat today.

He remembers how Jongin was the only one who shoved the bullies aside on the first day in second grade when Kyungsoo was crying tears and snot since some older peers called him nicknames.

Jongin came to school with bruises on his arms, and stayed afterwards due to detention or something else.

Most people fled.

They didn’t want to look at someone who looked ready to start a fight if someone as much as breathed his way.

But they all grew older, and the only one by Jongin’s side was a certain small boy with a bowl-cut and a high sense of etic and justice, a contrast to the one whose palm he held.

And Kyungsoo was the only one who got to understand Jongin, or who was really let in.

He remembers that there were others who joined their circle, and things were okay in periods as they got a bit older - as long as it was all about high school, a supposed innocence that was yet to disappear.

However, he remembers the first time he tasted a cigarette, behind the school’s shed in a supposed study hour where Jongin breathed smoke down his lungs - the first time they went further, where their lips were spit-glossed, eyes shiny and clothes smelling ill.

He remembers the first times where Jongin came to school with a blue eye, this time not caused from someone at home.

He remembers Jongin’s first bar fight where Kyungsoo was ought to drive him home, and let him stay over so Jongin wouldn’t deal with trouble at home.

He remembers many things.

But most of all, he remembers the curve of Jongin’s lips whenever he muttered the three clear words: ‘’I love you.’’

And there were many things Jongin wasn't honest about.

There were too many.

But there was only one person he would ever return to, or would ever utter such innocent yet indulgent and meaningful words to, for someone who was a tainted youth. 

Kyungsoo remembers their promise - their linked pinky fingers when they stood in front of their apartment, the old one since they could only live in it for three years. 

He remembers that he didn’t care what his parents or friends thought, as he hasn’t done for years and still chooses not to care about, even if he should.

He remembers that Jongin stayed for a year with only occasional nights out and a simple but a various amount of jobs since he didn’t start in college like Kyungsoo did.

But Kyungsoo also remembers when Jongin’s most favored quote, putting ‘I love you’ aside, became ‘’If I go to jail tonight, promise you’ll bail me out?’’

And Kyungsoo held his promise - to when it became relevant a mere half year later.

Jongin started out with silvery bleached hair and rowdy looks at the age of twenty-one, and had already tried different looks in his teenage years.

He disappeared for longer periods and came home late in the nights, always smelling of smoke and sometimes alcohol.

He would always run a hand down Kyungsoo’s cheek, assure those worried eyes that now he was home - sometimes a little rowdy with his movements when the nights had gone wrong, and sometimes loving and fond when it had gone right.

Kyungsoo pretended he didn’t see the bags in the background or in the closets with questionable content or small bags with powder or wired stuff within. 

He pretended he wasn’t studying jury and that he didn’t already know about the things Jongin did when dusk fell, or why Jongin one time came home with a deep cut in his hip and had to go with a bandage for half a month.

Jongin always kept his work outside, though. 

Whenever he came home, there was no talking about it, and he never lifted a hand over Kyungsoo’s body. He never left a mark Kyungsoo didn’t want there.

But he had been starving sometimes, and he had come home with alcohol in his breath while he fucked Kyungsoo against the wall, tugged in his hair as he kept raggedly whispering _‘’I love you so fucking much.’’_

He’d taken it slow sometimes and kissed Kyungsoo everywhere, breathed some more smoke down Kyungsoo’s lungs while he thrusted in slowly or let Kyungsoo ride him, with a touch so fond it could make any man feel cherished.

He’d never come home smelling of someone else’s perfume. He’d never led his lips anywhere else than on Kyungsoo.

But he often disappeared at night, and came home when it was morning to sleep the rest of the day away, and slowly began to spend more time out the busier he was. He’d also come home in the nights but then disappear in daylight.

Jongin had no spare feelings for anyone, or a mercy rule - only if it was about injustice that regarded people of no power. He alway had a strong sense of justice, but in a different degree while he executed injustice on another level.

Years passed, and the income of money varied through time.

It started getting higher when he was twenty-three and came home with a big plaster over his back and arm - later revealed to hide a monstrous dragon tattoo with tribal-like ink beneath.

And Jongin has never told Kyungsoo what it stands for, but Kyungsoo has never needed to guess.

Even now, Kyungsoo goes on with his life, as he has always done. 

As if it’s a double-life - one where he’s ordinary and he’s got it going, and one where he waits in front of the door like a sullen pup with his feet turned in and a heavy heart in his chest.

He has his family, he has friends and he has a stable but long study course and a promise about a future job, even if the economy swings up and down in the meantime.

Overall, he looks mundane and somewhat untroubled - if one doesn’t look at the bag under his eyes. 

Or the way his gaze keeps veering to the side and up at the clock that quenches the silence in the kitchen with its agonizingly slow ticks.

It’s getting darker outside, dusk setting its mark.

Kyungsoo aimlessly traces different patterns in the tomato soup with a spoon, not having had enough energy to make something better.

His body is hidden in a big sweater and sweatpants, arms skinny and collarbones showing. But it doesn’t matter - that’s how it’s been the past years anyway.

He has fun. He goes out with friends, has evenings at bars or goes to events with his family and gets a birthday cake every once a year.

Nothing should be wrong.

But the other side of his bed is empty, and he can’t fill it in with anyone else but the one he has in mind.

He has tried.

He has tried subtly dating someone else, but found no delight in such. They are either too sweet or just not enough - they don’t have the same rough hands but sweet words. 

They’re not Kim Jongin.

Yet something is building up inside him, and it’s about time he really starts to feel it - 

starts to feel unsatisfied with how his heart can go from beating erratically and then to a slow, morose pattern all dependent on one person.

And he’s tired.

He’s tired - from all the eighteen years he’s known and been with Kim Jongin.

He thinks that their love should last forever.

He hopes it will.

But words are molding on his tongue, ready to be launched into the air when the right moment will show itself.

It doesn’t matter that he checked his paypal account just some minutes ago and saw that a bundle has been deposited, this one the biggest so far, and that he’ll have enough to relax for months if he doesn’t want to strain his muscles with three free-time jobs, even if they might be withdrawn again when trouble airs in the underground.

It’s not about the money, and it has never been.

He’s hunched over the bowl of soup while he eats, but he can’t get any of it in his mouth from how his hand is shaking, and he gets a dollop of the liquid down his sleeve and on the counter. 

The spoon clatters on the surface, a rough sound airing when the bowl is shoved aside and porcelain cracks on the floor.

But then it’s silent again, as it always is - with only the noise of the clock ticking and Kyungsoo’s shaky breaths filling the void, along with the internal thudding of his heart that is beating prominently between his ribs.

He ends up cleaning the mess he’s made, because that’s all he can do.

He doesn’t get anything to eat tonight, and stands with the other untouched bowl of soup in the sink in order to clean it, eyes aimless while his hands grow hot and pink under the scorch of the water, the only burn that is prominent on the outside.

Kyungsoo wakes up to the sound of footsteps outside his door, the clack of expensive heels that settles a tremor in the apartment. 

He opens his eyes and sees that a bit of light streams in from the kitchen through the closed door, under the cracks and over the rug. 

It takes a while, and his heart should be soothed as it always becomes, but this time he feels as if he’s suffocating - a final decision surfacing.

The bed creaks lightly when he raises himself, his hair a little unruly, big sweat-shirt strewn across his form, hanging off his shoulders.

His naked feet tap over the carpet until he opens the door - slowly and hesitant.

He peeks out, and his eyes are yet to adjust to the different light, so he stays half-hidden behind the door, his face poking out while he squints his eyes.

The air smells lightly of smoke, and the fire alarm has been manually turned off.

A man stands by the kitchen main's desk where a dark, covered window is behind him. He leans there, a cigarette inched between a thumb and forefinger. 

The cherry is glowing, smoke emitting even if the occupiers of the apartment aren’t allowed to smoke here.

Jongin stands there, his torso naked and shirt drawn off, lying on the counter along with the tie. Ink is scribbled along his right shoulder and over the half of his chest, then down his arm and, as Kyungsoo knows, down one side of his back and along the middle.

His clothes are finer this time, his figure more rippled, stomached toned - a few scars there and the one on his hip, his biceps bulging. He’s got a silver watch on his wrist, one he clicks off just now and sluggishly throws on the counter without an extra glance.

His brows are furrowed while he breathes out, molding small rings of transparent clouds.

His hair is slicked back in an uplifted and voluminous style, and his eyes are dark with unfathomable thoughts and unpredictable actions beneath.

‘’Jongin?’’ Kyungsoo finally opens his mouth once his head doesn’t feel too light anymore from waking up, and he walks in, drawing his sleeves over his hands, playing with his fingers.

Jongin looks up then, and the troubled expression disappears, replaced by a lighter one, a rich smile and loving eyes. ‘’Kyungsoo,’’ he says, and takes one last airy inhale of the cigarette before bashing it in the sink, its glow ebbing out.

He comes over and snakes an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist, drawing him close so that their hips touch.

Kyungsoo tries. 

He tries not to relish in the hold, tries to deny how good it feels to be held by Jongin, as it’s always felt. He tries to tell himself that this isn’t good for him; this isn’t what he deserves.

However, he melts into the kiss that Jongin plants on his mouth, the hungry way Jongin lingers and his other arm joins the first to drag Kyungsoo forward until their chests are almost touching despite their differences in height.

His breath smells like smoke, but also a bit of whiskey - not like cheap booze like it used to years ago.

‘’I’ve missed you,’’ he whispers.

He doesn’t have to do much to coax Kyungsoo into a lasting kiss, and Kyungsoo is pliant - lips agape as he shudders when Jongin’s tongue runs along the inner-seam of his lower lip, dipping in to lick the flat of some teeth too before the kiss turns open-mouthed and wet.

Wet smacks come from the actions, and one of Jongin’s hands come up to cradle the back of Kyungsoo’s head, a deep rumble sounding from his throat while his other goes down to dip beneath Kyungsoo’s boxers and grasp at one ass cheek in a rough squeeze.

Kyungsoo’s hands search, and there’s no shirt for him to tug in, so instead he has to dig his nails into Jongin’s shoulders, snake his arms around his neck and hang on.

His eyes open briefly between the deep kisses, and he pretends.

He pretends not to notice the black bag in the background that changes brand each time, where from the opening some huddled plastic bags stick out and there’s the handle of a sleek object peeking out as well, one Jongin must’ve forgotten to hide properly though Kyungsoo has seen him change the ammunition for it before when he didn’t know Kyungsoo was awake.

But Kyungsoo can’t pretend that his heart isn’t eating itself from the inside in desperation that sizzles, and he can’t pretend that he’s drawing back now only to gasp for air, just when Jongin has backed him against the opposite desk. 

‘’I-’’ he starts. The tone, the way his voice wavers, is what makes Jongin stop amidst it, stilling before settling a little back. 

They’re still somewhat glued together, with Jongin’s prominent arousal bulging through his pants and the metal of his belt pressing into Kyungsoo’s clothed stomach.

‘’I can’t,’’ is all he has to say to make the look in Jongin’s eyes change.

Jongin’s hands stay on Kyungsoo, though the one on his head has slid down to his nape, and the one on his ass is on his lower back.

It’s not the first time Kyungsoo has tried to state his limits aloud. 

But it’s the first time he might’ve meant it, somehow, and is setting a line. 

Though he wishes.

He wishes Jongin would beg him not to.

‘’You should-’’ there’s not much he wants to say.

He doesn’t want to explain, because he’s afraid Jongin wouldn’t understand.

Or maybe Jongin already does, but they’ve both postponed it all along.

‘’You should move out,’’ Kyungsoo says, voice throaty.

Jongin doesn’t answer, and he keeps looking.

The eyecontact lasts, and they keep staring - they keep searching in one another, and Kyungsoo does it, even if there’s nothing for him to find other than unkept promises.

But Jongin doesn’t let go - not yet.

His grip tightens, and Kyungsoo can see that his teeth are grinding, nostrils flaring. A hard filter soars over his eyes, one he’ll usually only show for someone foreign.

He breathes out against Kyungsoo’s lips, the terminal question: ‘’Do you love me?’’

Kyungsoo’s throat clamps shut, a lump blocking it, his air channel cutting short for a second, keeping the pleas and cries down - the ones he’s held for years. 

‘’No,’’ he whispers, and his lower lip is wobbling, eyes burning and face scrunching lightly in a grimace while he lies through his teeth.

**‘’Liar,’’** Jongin snarls. His jaw is setting, veins protruding on his neck from the strain.

Kyungsoo’s breath hitches, and he shakes his head. ‘’No-,’’ he says, to which Jongin continues pressing him against the desk. ‘’You’re  **_lying_ ** ,’’ Jongin counters, voice deep, coming like a rumble from deep down.

‘’I’m not-’’ Kyungsoo hurriedly smudges the tear rolling down his cheek away, and the next one as well, shaking his head again and again - ‘’I’m not lying,’’ he repeats.

‘’I mean it,’’ his voice cracks over, turning into a whisper. 

‘’I don’t love you anymore.’’

It’s the same as when Kyungsoo’s alone, with only the clock ticking and the time passing by, with more absence than presence. He's tired. 

Jongin doesn’t answer for a while, but he doesn’t move either.

Kyungsoo releases a surprised gasp when suddenly lips are on his own, and it’s an abrupt rustle when their bodies are pressed together again, Jongin who licks into his mouth.

Kyungsoo tries to move away to keep his words solemn, but he’s the one whose hands are creeping down the other’s back, nails scratching there and digging in when Jongin grinds into him.

It’s different tonight.

It’s intimate, but at the same time impersonal.

Jongin doesn’t guide him to the bed this time, but keeps pressing him into the desk, looming over him.

Kyungsoo unravels beneath him, because there’s nothing else he can do - there’s nothing else he really wants, and he doesn’t resist when Jongin starts planting colorful hickeys and deep bites down his throat, the pace hurried and desperate with hands fumbling, Jongin’s shoulders shaking.

The fabric rips when Kyungsoo’s shirt is pulled over his head, leaving him standing only in boxers that are quickly tugged off to pool around his ankles.

Kyungsoo is dazed, naked and out of breath when Jongin then steps to the side. 

The broad shoulders leave and Kyungsoo follows him with his eyes, observes the tattoo roll under the muscles that flex once Jongin reaches the bag from before and soundly unzips the side of it, pulling out a bottle of transparent content.

His eyes are dark and he looks like he wants to devour Kyungsoo, his shoulders tense and stomach flexing, abs pulling tight when he slams the bottle down on the counter, taking a hold of Kyungsoo again with a hand on his bicep.

But he’s not the only one.

Kyungsoo takes, and he devours too as they inch closer again, chest again chest, Kyungsoo who bites down hard on Jongin’s lip till it must draw blood, fingers skittering over warm skin - over engraved ink and promises. He moans raggedly as his cock grinds against the fabric of Jongin’s pants and brushes the cold metal on his belt.

It’s been long.

It’s been long since they last were together, and it’s a foreign feeling that comes when Jongin has coated his fingers with lube, and his hand has snuck behind Kyungsoo, pressing down between his buttocks, fingertips rubbing against his entrance.

The marble counter is cold beneath the elder when he’s hoisted up, his legs getting spread and two fingers plunging in at once with a harsh force, breaching the rim.

Kyungsoo has never had any shame when been he’s with Jongin.

He doesn’t have it now either as he bites his lower lip but moans audibly through his teeth and raises his leg for Jongin to lift onto one shoulder, baring himself, his cock bobbing a bit with the motions.

His chest is heaving up and down, and he’s skinnier now than what he was the last time they were together, and Jongin must see that.

But Jongin doesn’t comment on it and instead uses a different force, adding a third finger even if Kyungsoo is yet to accommodate.

Small, strained noises leave Kyungsoo’s lips and bubble from his throat - some hushed and sounding more like a hiss while his body rocks with the motions, and he’s lying on the desk now, only holding his torso up with his elbows digging into the marble.

His stomach scrunches together during a few defined thrusts where Jongin curves his fingers and presses in until he’s knuckles-deep, and he’s still got one of Kyungsoo’s legs over his shoulder while the other is bend where Kyungsoo’s heel is digging into the edge of the desk, thighs spread.

They keep eye contact even now, with Jongin who looks furious - the hard glint from before still clouding, even if there’s a glimpse of the one Kyungsoo knows, the one who doesn’t let go, who’s said the three same but permanent words over and over again.

But it’s still different tonight, Kyungsoo knows.

Because Jongin suddenly stops, and he leans down and over, the cold metal brushing once more brushing against Kyungsoo’s cock. 

‘’Do you love me,’’ he asks when they’ve kissed and their lips are swollen, breaths hasty.

Kyungsoo licks his lips, and his eyes are glazed. ‘’No,’’ he says, but he’s still got one hand on Jongin’s bicep where the skin is turning a little red from the tight grip that tells him to stay.

Jongin turns Kyungso around then, and Kyungsoo slides down from the desk until he’s bent over it instead, his cock digging into the surface and torso pressing there. 

He’s pinned with his cheek mashed there as well, his knees bumping into the drawers beneath. 

He hears the rustle of when Jongin tinkers with the belt, the sound when he’s drawn his fly apart, his underwear down to slick his thick cock with the remaining lube on his fingers.

He settles behind Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo holds his breath. 

There’s no condom tonight either, but just skin and a wet but tight slide.

Jongin spreads the ass cheeks apart with one hand while he guides the cockhead up to the entrance, rubbing the fat cockhead there before pressing in in one go. 

Panting fills the room, and it’s silent despite the strained sounds coming from Kyungsoo when the fabric of Jongin’s pants rub against the back of his thighs, buried deep inside him with a breach that burns but feels so good anyway.

It’s first when Jongin starts moving that Kyungsoo really reacts, how his shoulder-blades meet on his back while he claws around, holding on as he’s rammed into with a ruthless force, his kneecaps banging against the drawers, creating a loud and constant pattern.

He’s sure the neighbors can hear it - both on right, left and beneath, but he doesn’t care.

He has drawn his hands down beneath him, under his chest to hold himself a little up, knuckles turning white and a fluster due to strain rushing down his throat. 

His eyes are shut, tears brimming at the corners as he moans aloud, the outbursts turning into hitched sobbing but pleased gasping while Jongin continues fucking him. 

The sound of skin on skin is filthy and the slide is slick. Jongin hovered above him before, but leans down now to leave messy trails of kisses down his back, moaning too even if it comes through snarls and gritted teeth.

‘’I love you,’’ he breathes out, words punctured for each thrust, ‘’I love you so fucking much, Kyungsoo,’’ he puts a pressure on the last sentence: ‘ _ ’I can’t live without you.’’ _

Kyungsoo sobs, his body shuddering from the volume, and he doesn’t think about the fact that this sounds wrong to any intruding ears.

He comes first, his throat too sore for him to say anything when he stills. 

Jongin finishes inside him, panting harshly once he’s done.

He stays inside, the thrusting slowing down till he’s just standing, leaning on Kyungsoo.

And it’s silent, again. 

There’s nothing left for Kyungsoo to say. He’s snivelling like a kid, slumping with his face pressed into the desk.

Jongin lets go.

His palms slide off Kyungsoo’s hips, and his in- and exhaling is irregular for a different reason now, but Kyungsoo doesn’t get to see the expression on his face.

Jongin buckles his belt again and zips his pants, and gathers his stuff.

There are no words. 

The last thing Kyungsoo sees is the broad back and the swiveling ink before him, further ahead in the combined living room, where Jongin is putting on his shirt again. 

The door slams a few minutes later, and Kyungsoo slides down onto the ground, his forehead dragging against the wood of the drawer before him with a stubby drag.

His fingers grasp at the air, aiming for nothing, for what’s already gone - for what he’s tried to let go of for so many years.

But his heart isn’t happy, and his mind is void, and he’s never felt quite like this, as if a black hole emerges in his chest and swallows everything he stands for.

And he’s alone - the only noise in the room is the ticking of the clock.

Cum is dripping down his thigh where he’s hunched on his knees on the ground, and he bangs his head on the drawer, again and again.

There’s a month of work on overdrive, with instant ramen for dinner and no breakfast or other kinds of food.

There’s two months of solitude where Kyungsoo doesn’t let anyone come in - where no one comes in, and no certain heels clack over the kitchen floor in the night, and the fire alarm is in one piece. 

There’s three month where Kyungsoo goes out and tries to forget, and beds random stranger that he’s met in a bar, where he cries the following day and scrubs his skin in the shower till he’s pink all over.

There’s a half year where Kyungsoo does as he’s ought, and he graduates and doesn’t have to wait for long to get a job, because he searches where he’s always wished to be. He’s classified due to all the studying he’s gone through and how solemn his words are in the interview where there’s no ounce of hesitation. He’ll devote everything to the law.

There are years where he goes at home with a ticking clock and an empty heart, though he strives forward at the workplace and at an early age fights through promotions to get a respectable place in the higher floors of the skyscraper.

There is a time where he gets a public image, and he does nothing but breathe coffee and eat instant food to stay up late and do as he’s ought. At the age of thirty, there’s one prominent name standing on the list of wanted people, of a gang around the capital that’s recently been growing and sells drugs in masses, where one name is on the top. 

Kai.

There is an interview where a microphone is shoved up Kyungsoo’s face though he’s not the only important figure there, where Kyungsoo promises that he’ll be the one to have Kai’s head at his feet. He says it even if nobody knows who Kai is, and no one’s seen the face of the boss who recently claimed his throne, and who’s since then kept the underground at bay in some districts - told to be cunning but solemn, one who only pulls the trigger when it’s necessary.

It’s a linked system, and there are many tales in one. There’s investigations and gang wars between many, but they never get closer to a final conclusion. There’s too much blood shed over nothing, decoys left wailing for mercy when the police storms the place.

But there’s also a time where one of Kyungsoo’s lungs are punctured in a raid that backtracks, and he’s left on the ground gasping, clutching at himself in pain and he can only hear the dull sound of gunshots in the distance. 

He’s close - he’s so close, and this wasn’t meant to be the place where they’d be, but it turned out as the unexpected. Kyungsoo isn’t a part of the force, but he’s there to look at the scenes or see to the smaller cases, and to file and discuss the bigger ones - but here he is, and he can hear the thrum of his temples throbbing.

He’s left for void once he feels hands grab at his biceps and a cold snout of a gun against one temple.

Yet a deep voice follows the thrum, and the metal goes away, confused faces looking at the person who’s approaching Kyungsoo’s limp body.

Kyungsoo wakes up at a hospital, not knowing how he got there, and only a few of his companions are hurt, since the gang members apparently left the cargo place at the harbor, retreated for reasons unknown.

He finds the crumbled head of a red rose in the pocket of the jacket he had worn at the scene.

He finds it a month and a half later when he’s free to go from the hospital, when he stands in his house with a newly wed wife behind him who doesn’t understand why he kicks the couch and locks himself away in the bathroom, or doesn’t understand who the unknown source is that knows their credit card number and provides them money once or twice a year when the job doesn't pay enough, even for being in the higher ranks.

And another three years pass with no further results, and it feels like Kyungsoo’s playing cat and mouse with a shadowy figure who knows how his mind works, knows how the forces play.

With Kyungsoo who doesn’t tell his wife that the roses that are delivered to their house or appears on their dinner table aren't from him, and they're not for her.

But Kyungsoo stands still one day, and he can feel the same hole as from eight years ago swallow him from the inside. 

The clock is ticking behind him, a hollow noise that travels through the bathroom.

He holds a hand over his throat, that then slides down to hover over his chest where his heart is.

He looks into the mirror, and not much has changed.

Same height, same frame but with a back that’s a bit more hunched and bags under his eyes that are darker.

The hole in his chest is the same, and he’s never had the heart to admit to himself that he’s not in love. 

He’s not in love with his wife, but he’s in love with loving her.

The real core beneath belongs to someone else. 

And he feels guilty, as always.

Kyungsoo’s lips have been curled down in a permanent frown for a long time, but now they’re darting up in a sardonic smile, one that matches Jongdae’s from a long time ago, Jongdae who’s still here but who visits less because Kyungsoo isn’t easy to keep contact with if the matters don’t regard his work.

Kyungsoo looks himself in the eyes, and he can’t help but to laugh, and he’s laughing until he’s teary eyed and he’s slumping against the wall behind him, clutching at his stomach as tears dribble down his cheeks and jump off by the cliff of his chin.

He only moves after a few minutes of weak laughter dying in his throat. 

The bottle in his hand rustles with the pills inside, clacking against the orange and half-transparent surface. 

He looks himself in the eyes when he unwraps the lid and pours, and doesn’t stop before his fist is full and some of them spread on the ground.

He stares, and stares - and the tears are still sprouting - they don’t stop.

But the smile stays there.

‘’Love goes on and on forever….,’’ he murmurs.

He holds his hand up. 

‘’Said no one.’’

He knows his heart is the same as before, but this time he can control it - with a different method.

He has found a way to stop it.

He gulps the dose down with water and shaking hands. 

It takes a while, but he doesn’t need to wait long for the effect to find place.

He’s locked the door.

He doesn’t answer when someone knocks, and it’s a female voice, it’s Sojin whose voice turns louder when a bang resounds in the bathroom from when Kyungsoo stumbles against the sink.

The door rustles furiously, but Kyungsoo can’t hear anything. 

His temples are throbbing, and he’s wheezing - everything goes in slow motion and his sight is turning strange.

He closes his eyes, and he’s only got one face in his mind.

Everything is dull.

He still can’t hear anything, but Sojin’s voice must be there in between the throbbing, followed by a constant but slow beeping. 

There are pristine white walls and serenity left for his eyes to see.

His head is aching, and his mouth feels dry. 

When he’s got his eyes open, he’s still got a double vision, making him unable to identify the two figures next to him where one clutches his hand and the other one is leaning against the first.

Another ten minutes have passed and after another figure has been in and rustled with something around him, he can see - slowly coming to his senses.

Sojin is crying, holding his hand, mascara tracking down her cheeks.

Jongdae next to her has red eyes as well, and he’s telling Kyungsoo how stupid he is and that he’s never ought to do this again - something about a beta blockers overdose.

Kyungsoo feels like a fool for thinking he could escape.

And he feels even worse for making the people around him worry.

For making Jongdae give him that look. 

For Sojin going through this without knowing the truth, even if one doesn't need to be keen to see that Kyungsoo's mind has been elsewhere, in another bed and with another person for years though they've both pretended he's been with her all the time.

So he tunes it out and stares up at the ceiling, and he guesses.

He guesses he should find happiness somewhere else. 

Yet he’s not sure what he’s going to do now, because his heart hasn’t changed, and might never do.

He’d take the risk and stop it years later, maybe, when the rope snaps again.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed, and that’s the scariest part.

He spends the rest of the next days not talking. 

Not responding as he stares out of the window where rain drums, past Sojin who’s face is still scrunched up as she comes to visit everyday, lips moving every now and then to no avail. 

Jongdae had to leave some hours ago after his third visit, and Kyungsoo’s parents and sibling are told to be rushing over here when they can.

But Kyungsoo doesn’t feel anything, not even the guilt - even if it's there, packed away for now.

It’s all shrivelled up to a numb feeling - a defense mechanism he’s mastered through years.

Nothing breaks him from his reverie, except the hushed yelling coming from the hall.

It’s almost evening, and the media has tried to press its way in - nosy journalists and hungry eyes, though no one has managed to get access.

Yet now Kyungsoo hears the kind nurse from before distressedly say ‘’you can’t visit him right now’’ -

And another ‘’Identify yourself,  **sir,** **_please_ ** ,’’ but apparently it falls on deaf ears.

A foreign figure enters the room, the three nurses behind him hysteric, but they’re locked out when the door slams and a broad back is all that’s in view.

Sojin is screaming and she holds out her purse in defense, her eyes wild but scared. 

Yet the man doesn’t even spare her a glance once he turns around, and his eyes lock on Kyungsoo on the bed, who stares right back.

It’s silent, but there’s no clock in the room and only the pitter-patter of the rain on the window, blocking Sojin’s outbursts out.

The man has skin darker than the average and brown hair that is slicked back, wet from the rain 

He’s wearing a simple t-shirt and denim pants that have become soaked from the rain, though the tension wafting off his form and muscular shoulders doesn’t belong to any ordinary man.

‘’Kyungsoo,’’ he says, and there’s a filter passing over his eyes, distinguished from the barrier held there. It’s a familiar one, it’s a reserved but soft one, one that’s held for one person only.

Sojin stops, gaze shifting between the two of them, asking ''who is he?'' among other things.

Kyungsoo’s mouth feels like cotton. He can only stare, and his heart is beating prominently in his chest, tuning out his wife's pleas.

‘’You,’’ he whispers, voice cracking over - and it’s the first word he’s said ever since he woke up.

The man closes the distance with slow but precise steps, and he’s by Kyungsoo’s side, leaning down - the pace then hesitant and his seat soft on the bed as if he’s afraid Kyungsoo will break.

Sojin is saying something in the background, but it’s tuned out, and none of them regard her gimmicks or the way she steps forward and then back, perplexed and panicked. 

The door is still rustling due to the nurses who try to get in, and someone must’ve hit the alarm button.

Kyungsoo’s eyes are crinkling at the corners, and a soft ‘’Jongin,’’ leaves his lips. 

Jongin’s hand is cold when it cups Kyungsoo’s cheek - when the other finds his hand as well, a thumb stroking over the front.

Jongin’s head is tilted a bit, and his eyes are glazed. 

He’s grown, and his face is far more mature, but his eyes are the same, because there’s one thing that has never left him.

A silent warmth tracks down from eyes, and his adam’s apple bobs, his brows moving in small ticks from the emotions travelling across his face, bared for Kyungsoo to see.

He doesn’t need to say anything. His presence is enough, and it’s risky, even if his face is unknown.

Kyungsoo doesn’t do anything either, and he barely realizes how his cheeks are wet as he’s letting out breathy hiccups, inching closer in the bed, leaning into the palm that caresses him with a touch so fond it can make any man feel cherished.

Jongin’s lips are cold and wet, but Kyungsoo’s heart is becoming warm.

Kyungsoo closes his eyes and melts into the kiss, his other hand having drawn up to grasp at Jongin’s cheek as well, as if he doesn’t want to let go.

It’s silent, all except from the breath Jongin eases into Kyungsoo’s mouth, the light sound when their lips detach only to press together again. 

There’s no such thing as forever.

  
Especially not in love.

That’s what the sane people say, at least.

But Kyungsoo can’t say he’s sane in this anymore.

And he knows that he loves Kim Jongin - 

Brains out.

 


End file.
